


Thursday Night Rush

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [74]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Hook-Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Loki goes to a bar looking to get drunk, not to get fucked, thank you. But then he meets Thor.





	Thursday Night Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Two night stand au. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

He wakes up half stupid and sore. And that’s before he rolls over and smacks straight into Thor.

The great blond bear is still sleeping, his head thrown back, his chest bare, his skin glistening with sweat and a different sort of stickiness. Loki’s cheeks heat, remembering, suddenly aware of the mess on his own skin, the sweet soddenness that still lies between his legs. They hadn’t bothered to clean up after, had they? Not even so much as a wet flannel. Too tired, they’d been, too hammered; too enamored of the other’s company to slip away even for a second. It was a silly feeling, he told himself; dumb, romantic twaddle that meant both of them would have to be practically peeled from the sheets.

But then, he’d felt stupid ever since he’d seen Thor standing at the end of the bar last night, nursing a golden pint, his pretty face twisted forlorn.

He’d been wearing a suit, or the remnants of one: tie gone, collar open, suit jacket abandoned somewhere. A crisp white shirt remained and had been rolled up to his elbows, his vest unbuttoned and left to gape open, while his charcoal-colored trousers hung perfectly on his hips and fell in tailored waves to his shoes. He was, to be sure, not a regular, not somebody Loki remembered ever seeing before and there was no way, even in his darkest hour, that Loki would’ve missed someone like Thor.

Loki hadn’t gone in for a pick up; he’d gone in to throw back a few cocktails and blot out the long tall of stupid that had been his day. He hadn’t even bothered to change his clothes, to pull on the cute green sweater he’d strategically stowed away in his desk for nights just like this, when he wanted to go out but not bad enough to go home and changed. He hadn’t even looked at himself in the mirror before fleeing the office; for the first time in a long, long time, he cared more about getting drunk than getting fucked.

It wasn’t any one thing at work that had driven him to despair. He’d only sat through two pointless meetings and had five mind-numbing phone calls and answered ten emails that could’ve been avoided if his boss had bothered to come down the hall and talk to him in person. It was the slow season for fundraising, the dreaded dead months after the holiday rush, and even though his boss knew that said season was an actual measurable phenomenon and not a testament to Loki’s personal failings, she seemed downright determined to forget.

Some days, Loki could handle spending eight hours managing her willful amnesia. On that day? Not so much.

So as soon as the clock hit 4:59, he was on his feet and out the door.

By 6:30, he'd been three and half cocktails in and feeling gloriously fuzzy when he’d spotted the lovely, bearded creature drinking by himself at the far end of the Thursday night rush.

He felt a flare of heat in his gut, a shiver of want in his spine. Gods, the man was gorgeous. And he was only getting a good look at one side of him. How pretty would he be face to face?

Loki had a vision of being spread across this man’s thighs, that beard biting his throat as those big hands held his hips and yes, his blotto brain told him, told his legs and his feet. Yes yes. Fucking please.

“Did someone die?”

The blond didn’t look up at Loki slid up on the stool beside him. “Excuse me?”

“Are you in mourning? Should you be wearing widow’s weeds or something? Is that why you’re emoting into your beer?”

The man’s mouth turned in irritation. “I’m not looking to talk.”

“No, well. Obviously.”

Blue eyes on him, suddenly, depths of an angry sapphire shine. “If it’s so obvious, then why the hell are you bothering me?”

Loki laughed--not the disarming, _buy me a drink daddy_ one he usually affected in places like this, but his real laugh, the loud, off-kilter kind. “Because,” he said, “we’re the hottest people here, you and me, and you like you’ve had a day even worse somehow than mine and if we don’t take acknowledge this beautiful gift of the universe and try to drown the shit of this day in each other’s bodies, then we’ll be just as pissed as we are now but also alone and unfucked. And if there’s a way of avoiding either or both of those things right now, I for one am all for it.”

The guy gaped at him--which was good, that’d been a speech worthy of a gape, Loki thought. And that meant, too, that the man was no longer scowling. Also a plus. Because it made him even more beautiful. Fuck, Loki thought, his brain a boozy pink cloud, how hot would this guy be if he smiled?

“Now that,” the beard said, “is a hell of a line.”

Loki shrugged. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s a new one. Manufactured just for you, right on this very spot.”

There was a stretch of silence between them, the gears in blond guy’s eyes turning. Loki could feel the heat of the man’s body, smell the warm scent of his sweat. The sudsy smell of his beer. The sweep of his gaze sliding over Loki’s face, down his throat, across the slim stretch of his chest. It’d been a while since Loki had been so bold--since he’d had to be; when he was in the mood, when he was on, he usually had his pick, had to beat them off with a stick. And he’d forgotten what it felt like, to be the one to take the risk, to put himself out there with a show of bravado, yes, an air of absolute confidence, but with no way of knowing what the stranger would say; of if said stranger felt the same way at all.

He kept his face still, his expression cool, but inside, his blood was churning, sending thoroughly unhelpful signals to his dick and damn if he hadn’t forgotten about the crapfest that had been today. 

“Tell you what,” the guy had said finally, his voice warm and even. “You don’t ask me a single question about how my day was or say anything approaching _what’s wrong_ and I’ll take you somewhere and fuck you until you can’t see straight. Deal?”

 _Christ_. Loki set down his glass fast and held out his hand. “Deal,” he said. “On one condition.”

The guy’s fingers swallowed Loki’s. “What’s that?”

“Tell me your name.”

The man smiled, unexpectedly soft. “Believe it or not,” he said. “My name’s Thor.”


End file.
